Facebook Slider

Atka @ Studio 9294 (Live Review)

 Atka

 Studio 9294

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

Thawing out in a cozy boozer around the corner from the station in Hackney Wick, we marinate whilst a delayed friend makes their way to us.  They’re an hour late, but the time’s spent sipping on a half of Kernel with Elvira’s (Cassandra Peterson) autobiography in hand, Cruelly Yours, in hand (would recommend).  Tonight, we’ll be getting a sneak peak of Atka’s first performance in London.  No fear if you weren’t there, they’ll be back at it on November 28 at The Waiting Room in Stokey.

It’s been five days, we’re told mid-set, since the German-born, London-based artist released their debut EP, The Eye Against the Ashen Sky.  Tonight, through a tangle of wires and kit, a deep drudging bass echoes off the 9294’s spacious warehouse ceilings and walls, reaching down on us like sonic skeletal fingers.  The 30-minute delayed stage time dragged on pre-show but, after a rousing set opener, we felt like we’d been renewed afresh, much like we’d yanked out of a Lazarus’ pit.

“She sounds like an Irish Sinéad O'Connor”, our friend half whisper/screams into our ear.  Atka’s eyes seem to nervously flick about the room fork-tongued like a snake gathering reconnaissance on the space, it came back balmy and steadily rising.  The sieved philosophical lyrics burrowed with a contrasting elegance, while hard and brutish faux-bass clacking out from the keyboards clearing any obstacles in its path.

‘Lenny’, track three, soon came on and our friend bellowed, ‘this is the one he heard online’.  Atka insights on Lenny, “This is a song about how one man’s obsession with finding meaning turns everything around him into a swamp of meaninglessness that also sucks in everyone around him.  It’s witnessing empty repetition right in front of your eyes and the helplessness, all-limbs-dropping-to-the-floor exhaustion felt as a result, when caring for someone who is depressed.  And ultimately, it’s about the absence of being perceived by that person and one’s drift into a ghost-like state.  When no one is watching or sees me – do I even exist?  ‘Lenny’ is about “reverse-paranoia” if you want it.”

‘Child of Rage’, the last song of the evening, is over, along with the set, far too soon.  No encore filled with covers here (Joy Division nor Kraftwerk).  After a succinct set, Atka takes an opportunity to introduce the band; Min (keys), Louie (percussion), and Archie (strings).  Together, they are greater than the sum of their parts and have presented a compelling performance.  Recording their first song at age 10, Atka pours a wealth of experience into a richly dense EP that plays as well live as it does on record.

 

Read more...

PJ Harvey @ The Roundhouse (Live Review)

PJ Harvey

The Roundhouse, London

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

 

“Stop elbowing me, it's a gig man”; No, this isn’t a cut from PJ Harvey's latest, I Inside The Old Year Dying.  Although, If one does face the unfortunate opportunity to sample it, they’ll likely tell you, it does feel like a sharp elbow being shoved repeatedly into your side at unexpected intervals.  No, instead this a statement from an overzealous fan, throwing their body against us repeatedly as we take notes at night two of two sold out consecutive dates at Camden Town’s Roundhouse.  Earlier in the day, seeing Alison (Mosshart of The Kills) post on her venture to night one of PJ’s gig from a balcony vantage makes for a compelling argument, especially after our incident, that sitting both at height, and far away from crowds at stage level, is the way.  Our exposure to the whims of fanatics, we must admit, fanatical accusations and generally gross behaviour (profuse vomiting) throughout the gig would paint our experience of the evening, ah hindsight!

Catching the snippet from Alison’s feed reminded us that we’d be missing out on the opportunity to review England’s favourite daughter and rock-sician.  We mused on opportunities lost, this being the latest, over a pint of Guiness at The Pineapple when our phone buzzed.  In the final hours of the evening, there’d been a few sudden openings on the list and we were flattered to be called upon to give our two bits worth.  Tipping the last of the black stuff back, we made our way to the venue.  Once inside, we shimmied up to stage right, where we’d settle in for the performance.  Without a support act, PJ took to stage quietly and quiet promptly.

In 2016, we caught PJ at Barcelona’s Primavera, sandwiched in between the likes of LCD Soundsystem (coming out of retirement), Radiohead, Sigur Ros and Tame Impala.  Huge names, to be sure, but this slight figure at a stage so far away from us, had cut into the night with her gleaming saxophone making a HUGE impression on the crowd.  This evening, we were ready for round two, but unfortunately Harvey wouldn’t Let England Shake.  Birds chirping, sounds of the forest, and unseen children’s laughter fell upon us instead.  What in sweet fuck was the meaning of this shit?

Over the next hour, a pastiche of absurdity, and not in that groovy trippy Michel Gondry or Yorgos Lanthimos sort of way, came at us from the stage.  We were thoroughly unprepared for this.  Before recounting the evening’s events, at only just the mention of Harvey, close friends of ours would mention they’re huge fans but her latest was not for them.  The words “confusing” and “she’s gone soft” were descriptors of PJ’s latest works.  On stage, Harvey cut angular poses like an ancient discus thrower gearing up for the toss.  She hadn’t gone soft, in the literal sense, with each pose (imagine interpretive dance) lean muscle and tightened ligaments shone taut, in a sleeveless number sheer from the waist down, at attention and we could say with conviction her vocals were on equal par.  Four songs in though, she still hadn’t picked up an instrument.  The band meanwhile, in what looked like reworked pastel hessian sacks in lieu of clothing, did all the heavy lifting with a mix of strings, percussion, keys and theramin.  Presumably, all these songs were off the new album and went down like a lead balloon.

The shift was palpable when she picked up an acoustic guitar three quarters into the first half of her performance.  Looking back, we thought, did we have a right to feel this way?  I guess the answer is we don’t know.  In our collective defence however, it was with a collective relief seeing the instrument handed over by one of many roadies into Polly’s welcoming hands.  We did in the end, come to watch a gig, not a pantomime of physical dance.  I guess it just wasn't on the agenda and how could it be?  It was tough to digest, like rock soup, and equally as unexpected and unpalpable.  At about the 45-minute mark, Harvey walks off stage as her musicians form up like a maimed group of American Civil War soldiers in a marching band, a confusing spectacle to be sure.  Anyone that’s seen PJ knows she has a flair for pageantry so we stuck out her return to stage purely out of curiosity.  Our curiosity satisfied, but not our imagination, we see Harvey return appearing exactly as she’d left during the first half. Looks, however, can be deceiving.

The lights, now dimmed, draped the Roundhouse in darkness as spotlights beamed down harsh angles at a solitary figure.  With a Gibson Firebird, ‘Man-Size’ rings out into the darkness.  The shift in the audience is palpable in as much as their relief, Harvey was digging into her back catalogue.  Sticking it out had proved worthwhile after all . We were also treated to ‘Down By The Water’, a staple, being sung with unfamiliar playfulness ‘big fish/ little fish/ shhhhhhwiming in the water’, flirty, while maintaining its edge.  In our opinion, when she sang her finale, ‘White Chalk’ and played the zither as her voice howled longingly into the darkness, it was the best performance of the night.  ‘C’mon Billy’ before it also shone bright, Polly killing it on the harmonica.

The set was a journey through Harvey’s musical, and vocal, range and of accomplishment throughout her career.  Not all journeys are what one signs up for though.  The whole production felt like someone had spent a lot of money to make it look like they hadn’t spent any.  It felt like an afterwork yuppie theatre group were dipping their dramatic toes into the world of music, a weird mashup by any standard.  Generally, the feeling was one of tedium and general exhaustion.  It felt to us like the act of 2016, not that long ago by any standards, had gone into retirement but had only recently been reanimated to fulfill some contractual obligation, artificial. 

Read more...

Maple Glider @ SVQ (Live Review)

Maple Glider

 @ SVQ, London

 

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

 

The phrase, ‘it takes all kinds’ is chucked around haphazardly, in our opinion, these days.  On our way to the Maple Glider gig, we met some choice specimens that we felt fortified our opinion on the subject.  En route, we watched as a couple of tweens stood straddling one another in embrace atop an electric scooter, expertly balanced, taking turns hocking loogies at passers-by.  Or perhaps it was the pregnant woman holding a child’s hand at the bus stop as she smoked a cigarette with her free hand that tipped the scales for us?  It was then that we remembered the sage advice of one Clarence Worley, “usually, that’s the way it goes, but every once in a while, it goes the other way too” - True Romance.  An accurate summation of how one’s faith in mankind could be restored, as swiftly as a loogie in the wind.  Enter, Tori Zietsch a.k.a. Maple Glider, whose myriad of experiences with all kinds would forge the performer stood before us this evening.  For better or worse, we’d learn about their trials and tribulations; re-enactments of events, all leading towards an evolution of artist and person that would bring us a solid nine-song set from a battle-hardened heroine.

 

In the dimly lit basement of SVQ, whilst the ceiling beams creaked, groaned and, by all accounts, shifted a little too precariously under the strain of its patrons above, the people squeezed into the tiny venue like the Japanese into a train car at peak-times.  Wiggling past us, Tori taped a clutch of flowers to the mic stand largely unnoticed.  Hard to believe whilst being clad in red patent leather trousers, powder blue corset and lime psychedelic unbuttoned, button up shirt.  This changed quickly as the house music died and freshly tuned guitar came to life.  Maple Glider stood solo backed only by curtain instead of bandmates before us.  If you’re imagining this is where the set begins, think again.  In fact, throw out all assumptions of how the set should materialize but learn how this next event would definitely set the tone for things that would follow.

Someone out of sight above us galloped down the stairs, stumbling and dropping their phone as Tori quietly strummed the first chords of ‘Mama, it’s Christmas’.  The audience, ourselves included, gasped and held their breath as someone might having dropped their phone into the toilet.  A pin drop could be heard clear as day at present.  This in comparison, was quite like a bomb exploding, deafening.  Eyes closed.  A smile spread across her wide face and, ‘Are you okay???’ in an Aussie accent rang out in the wake of silence.  Tension broken, everyone, including Tori, let out a great chuckle.  This would set the tone for the evening.

 

A nine-song set would take us on an autobiographical journey through the career, and consequently life of, Tori.  It would veer and stray off-course into many anecdotal tangents and even more feverish gesticulations involving both hand and limbs.  Although entertaining for her audience, like the uncontrollable hiccups of a friend (or enemy), to us, a source of pleasure, she has lived so we might too, if by nothing more than proxy.  She’s created, not only a form of musical spectacle coming out the other side, but we’re sure a safe and entertaining space for those who’ll tune in. Maple Glider’s tunes ring true with a wealth of relatability.

Near the mid set point Tori reminisces about, ‘Diner’, from her latest I Get Into Trouble (aptly named) thanking Partisan Records.  A song about her time managing a diner (also aptly named), or that time a fan called ‘bullshit!’ on a tweet (admitting it was in fact bullshit), and the many faceted layers of sexual identity along with the challenges of ‘getting there’.  Recording it, she confided, was difficult but ultimately letting go of secrets made life lighter.  True say.   Lyrics like, ‘been in a church/making sure no one's looking up my skirt’ speaking of formative experience, illicit or otherwise, that really leaves an impression on an audience.  ‘Don’t Kiss Me’, song four, arrives with no intro at which the audience capitalized on an opportunity for applause.  'Sometimes My Own Body Doesn't Feel Like My Body' is confidently sung, locking the crowd's attention to the stage while her gaze soars across the room and over the audience’s heads.  The vibe is Cat Power’s cover of ‘Sea of Love’, morosely happy.

 

‘View From The Side’, nearing the end of the set, crystallized Maple Glider’s ability to shine a light into darker times by means of self-reflection or, even by accident, like being run over by your own bicycle (which actually happened to her), untethered and yet prolific.  ‘Looks Like We Made It’, a Manillow/Kerr cover next was a treat.  When scarcely the first words sung, there you are Tori locked eyes with a long time friend (yelling out “THERE YOU ARE!”) who’d nearly missed the set due to flight and train delays.  Timing’s everything folks.  Sad as it were though, the set did have to come to an end as all ‘Good Thing(s)’ must.  We’re of the same opinion though that, “I'd rather kill a good thing than wait for it die”. The set was like watching a giraffe taking its first steps; a bit clumsy at first but not lacking in entertainment, or limbs akimbo, for those lucky enough to have been around for two consecutive sold-out performances.

 

Read more...

Current Affairs @ The Lexington, London (Live Review)

 

Current Affairs

The Lexington, London

Words & pics by Captain Stavros

 

When a person will say something like, “I hate eggs”, it might not necessarily be the delicious egg’s fault, or the persons.  No, in fact the problem might be that they were force fed eggs at one time or another after politely declining a portion and ended up puking their fucking guts out, thereby associating eggs with putrid and curdy yellowish projectile vomit.  Not fun for anyone, to be fair.  Whilst growing up hearing the term, Current Affairs, which was almost always synonymous with prime-time news instead of sitcoms pushing the limits of their evangelical network censors, and thus dull.  Even though world events, as you enter adulthood (it’s a journey ‘til death or so we’re told), might leave a bad taste in your mouth, Current Affairs are still very much a part of everyday life that we’ve got to choke down.  Until now.  Enter, Current Affairs, band and disrupters of contemporary vernacular.

BBC 6’s Steve Lamacq lazily describes Glasgow/Berlin based C.A. as ‘gets better with every listen’, way to ring out every nuance out of it buddy, but we can’t say he’s wrong.  We caught their headline set, which built up some serious steam across their 11-song performance.  The band compares visually (on stage performers but especially their merch) and stylistically to a Lego project that’s had the instructions thrown out the window.  Clearly, it’s a mishmash of rogue components, but maybe it works even better having gone off script?  The members were drawn into each others orbits, solidified and cooled, with their present four-piece line-up in 2020.

Watching bands set up is a uniform, yet unique experience, case in point drummer, Andrew Milk (of We Are Shopping who are also fucking excellent) removing and refitting their shoes.  Repeatedly.  Rocking a homebrew T with DICKS FROM TEXAS plastered all over it bedazzled in stars.  Lucky ritual or neurosis, what's the difference?  The rest of the gang lurked about on the dimly lit stage setting up.  In the periphery, polka dot wunderkind Gemma ‘where does my shirt stop and polka dot bass start?’, caught our eye.  Nifty!  Everyone and their dog has been describing Joan Sweeney’s vocals as the re-incarnation of Siouxsie and the Banshees.  We were adamant that we’d avoid that pitfall but (Butts!) when the set kicked off with ‘Riled’ roaring out it was undeniable, she is Siouxsie Sioux re-incarnate.  If anyone says otherwise, grab’em by the legs, and throw them down the stairs.

Just shy of halfway through their set, ‘Cahoots’ pitches both punchy beats, up from a melancholic start, and cheesy banter between the members lead by, you guessed it, Andrew Milk.  He really got fixed on the dual pressure climates on stage, hot lights vs A/C, there were no takers and audience seemed befuddled.  We, however, were impressed with the off the cuff commentary, let the record show.  ‘Casual Radicals’ borrowed its distinct wavy guitar sounds from The Orielles with some really approachable warm vibes.  ‘No Fuss’ and ‘Reactor’ were our set faves for different reasons.  The former was a really well put together and solid song, the rehearsals came across on this one.  The latter and their latest single, before releasing their latest album in July, Off The Tongue, ‘Reactor’ was a crowd favourite with huge energy that got everyone moving.  We imagine that was the intent and the plan went off seamlessly.

By the time you read this review, you’ll be sad to hear that the band will have finished this leg of touring, so you won’t have an opportunity to form your own opinion on Current Affairs live performance, yet.  Never fear, that’s our job though, just take our word for it blindly!  You can add them on your socials and stream their jangly and nostalgic for the ‘80s noir wave goodness in the meantime.  We’d recommend also picking up some psychedelic merch as an artefact to live on through the ages though, it’s super unique and collage-y.  We’ll sign off here but not before mentioning something we caught in the press blurbs, Gemma’s mantra – “Everyone’s welcome, but don’t get it twisted”. True say.

 

Read more...

Pigeon Wigs @ The Lexington (Live Review)

Pigeon Wigs 

The Lexington, London 

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros 

As long ago as Ancient Greece, when marble statues were mercilessly pelted and festooned in guano, or even as early as last week when a wretched sky-rat flew into my face leaving me with a rash across half of it, Columba Livia Forma Domestica, commonly known as the Pigeon, has been in desperate need of re-branding. Too long has this menace plagued our already congested pavements by refusing flight in lieu of walking. We put it to you that no longer will this archaic avian be recognizable or even stand in your way only to explode upon your person in spontaneous flight, for they have been given a new platform to spread their heinous wings on. Well, rather more of a stage we should say. Not long until before us would be standing, unrecognizable in their newly made-over forms, Pigeon Wigs, in all their featherless disguised glory. 

Once upon a time on a continent far-far away, a morbid wax-like beast stood before a podium pontificating in bellow 'we're going to drain the swamp'. Muso’s, of course, was suspicious of said claims. However, many swamp filled years later, something did emerge creeping out just beyond the mucky waterline. On the still moist banks of Cardiff’s Splott Beach, if you squinted just right through the early morning mists a six-piece (labelled and pictured as a five-piece) incongruous mixture of musicians did appear,heralded by their pleasing audio/visual repertoire they leave a distinct impression on the mind. We had to see if this held up live for ourselves. 

One week later, we would find ourselves bending an elbow against a disused piano (arguably still in use as a human propping device) near a picture window at The Lexington in the dwindling summer’s light, we anxiously waited to see if we’d made the press list to review the gig. The winds were in our favour, for soon standing before us were Harry, Louis, Bailey, Tom and Erin setting up for their nine-song set with ‘Near The Knuckles’ as the opener. A great introduction of rolling rhythms through backwoods rock with huge sound and killer licks, proportionally an explosive a mixture the likes of which would put the deadly combo of Mentos and Diet Coke to shame. 

Noteworthy set highlights were ‘Paper Tiger’, for its solos that resembled an overfilled-untied-balloon being let loose on a devastating and unpredictable trajectory rather than a planned event. Harry’s singing style which consisted of a yawning chasm prominently displaying wiggling uvula and expelling great winds from places unknown rather than a mouth hole that bellowed out song. Louis’s ‘Cardiff Girls Do It Better’ T-shirt drew our attention but not as much as his wild auto wah-wah pedal that cranked ‘Hold-Up’ to life. By this juncture, everyone from the back had pressed their way to the front of the stage, and rightfully so. 

The freshly baptised audience stood piously stage side, by way of Bailey’s Jazzy drum solo’s, Tom’s relentless rhythms and Erin’s bodacious and legendary bass which legend has it can flatline a man at 10 yards, were all whoops and holler rounding the end of the set out. ‘Death of a King’ was our set favourite tune of the evening followed by ‘Flo-Sister’. The former had a great dynamic range and wildly appealing opening riff, the latter a honky tonk vibe that sent the high-hat jumping like a dog on a trampoline. Pigeon Wigs has a new single out, ‘Radiation Blues’ which did not disappoint, and will also be touring in July and August around the UK solely for altruistic reasons, mainly to prevent you from feeling too bummed out from missing a fantastic fuzz-filled set Chez Lexington.

 

Read more...

Nadine Khouri @ Paper Dress, London (Live Review)

Nadine Khouri

Paper Dress, London

Words & pics by Captain Stavros

 

Standing just outside a small clutch of fans encircling Nadine Khouri’s orbit after her warm performance at Paper Dress; each vie for the opportunity to overfill her cup with praise.  Admittedly, we’re sort of lurking in the outer rim for the same reason.  Her face is placid, framed with the same focus one might have when overlooking the horizon from a tall vantage as she nods appreciatively and offers her gratitude for their attendance.  When her gaze eventually fell on us, it felt like being seen, which is rare in a big city.  Nadine began by asking us our name and then introduced herself (no introduction necessary after her set) with needless humble.  There was a playfulness in her eyes and an air of quiet wisdom enshrouded her.  There wasn’t as much of a reveal as one might’ve thought, it’s clear that Nadine offers herself to us on stage and lets her music speak for herself, so let’s dispense with anymore introductions and get right to it shall we?

Nadine takes the stage with a lovingly polished and gleaming Epiphone, backed by a soft pulsing percussion.  Her 10-track set begins with the cool strumming of ‘Broken Star’ off the album The Salted Air, a refreshing start to a balmy evening.  The tune’s melody inspiring imagery of being enveloped in a desert canyon landscape lyrically doesn’t match up.  Instead, the song beats the pavement of a dirty and dilapidated cityscape, where bones bang around in the night for cheap thrills.  The attempts to keep a broken star safe lead to a trail of blood in its wake and shortly thereafter the song concludes.  Her performance, however, carries on but what a visceral opener, right?

What we couldn’t help noticing throughout the performance was just how completely enraptured throughout Nadine’s set the audience was.  Whoops and claps exploded in the tiny venue putting the needle far into the red, the PA had no chance against them.  It’s easy to understand the enthralment of the crowd, yes, the music is superb, but the lyrics are deep, cutting, insightful and vivid.  It’s hard to believe one person has navigated a veritable minefield of personal experience to draw from in order to craft and cultivate set favourites like, ‘I’m on Fire’, ‘Low-Fi Moon’ and her new single ‘Caged Bird’.  During their set there was crazy feedback from the synthesizer, ‘that’s not part of the song’ but soon after the hook dropped it was met by an a-la Lou Reed style backup singers chorus crooning the audience with their “Oooo Oooo Oooo” marrying up with Nadine’s.

Nadine’s performance washed over us like a calm conversation between our collective consciousness.  Her work is both approachable and relatable.  Her inspiration are her experiences, ‘Low-Fi Moon’ played around mid-set, was dedicated to Feist who she saw at the Barbican and wrote the song for directly afterwards being inspired by the set, and who could blame her?  Khouri’s performance was unhurried as it was fulfilling.  Although the music crossed from stage to audience effortlessly, gently disembarking, her hushed and melodic voice is what's in the spotlight as its enchanting inflection draws the audience in by way of hushed whispers to raspy highs, it holds steady and never cracks.  It’s easy to understand why John Parish scouted her out and helped her produce her last album.  Nadine has recently released ‘Caged Bird’ on her latest EP, which we were lucky enough to hear live.  Keep an eye for upcoming tour dates and new singles dropping, you won’t be disappointed.

Read more...
Subscribe to this RSS feed